The Science in the Alchemy
by Lydia Lecter
Summary: Whitechapel, 1888. When a series of grisly murders have Scotland Yard on edge and no leads, it's up to a young woman named Temperance Brennan to solve the mystery of the Whitechapel Murderer. But when the man in the shadows sets his sights upon her, Tempe's world soon becomes a dark labrinyth of deciet and lies.
1. The Observer in the Mist

**Chapter One:  
** **The Observer in the Mist**

He liked to keep a distance when he was in the Whitechapel District. There was something about those who occupied the area; the lost, the sick, the dredges of society. This was the reason he often chose his victims from Whitechapel - no one would miss them and, most importantly, no one would care. It would be recorded and filed as yet another murder or rape and the case would collect dust in the basement of Scotland Yard. Thusly, it was the perfect district to hunt within, and tonight he would strike again. There was only the question of whom to select. A young man, fresh out of his youth and breaking into his prime? Perhaps a woman, sick and dying in her bed alone in the warm summer air? Or there was the easiest of prey and one that he had always favored - a common whore. Whores seldom ever offered so much as a minor retaliation. He even knew the one he wanted, and tonight she would be his.

Her name was Martha Tabram. She was about thirty, and from what he could tell from observing her routine the last three evenings from the safety of the shadows, uneducated. She wasn't unattractive, but she was no beauty to behold either with her long brunette hair and a complexion dark. It was women like this that he found to be the easiest to targets because they would dwell upon their looks, always suffering from delusional imperfection, and take what they could. Should a man of his handsome looks call on them it would be a chance of a lifetime, and one she would have been a fool to deny. And it would be a chance to dance with beauty they could barely touch on their own, that is until they met their end at his hands like so many before them had. It was a task, a calling even, that he took as much pride in as a man might if he was to own the most successful fishing trolley. Why shouldn't he revel in the unmistakable truth that he had brought so many youthful whores and ambitious men to their creator? It had been his ability to offer them something no one else could, after all.

From the dank shadows of the district he watched her mix and mingle in the Two Brewers as he noticed that she wasn't alone. There was another woman with her, "Pearly Poll", as best as he could reckon. He would have taken "Pearly Poll" instead, but she wasn't on the docket quite yet. Being far more beautiful than his intended, she would require much more effort on his end to spend the evening with. Not that he cared much, he had won over women much more enticing and of a higher social status than any of those found in these slums, but he often enjoyed the thrill of the hunt, the undeniable challenge that came from the dance that lead to their demise, but tonight he was lingering dangerously close to the edge and he knew he must feed. There was precious little time for small talk and pleasantries. Something he had taken note of was Tabram's efficiency.

It would have to be an easy in, easy out. Another reason he had selected Martha Tabram was his research had shown her to be much weaker than her companions and less likely to fight back. Not the night before he had taken notice as she was attacked by a john, a rough around the edges type who looked like he had been brought up on meager bread offerings and low-class beer that lacked in taste and quality. He couldn't help but chuckle to himself as he watched them engage in their lurid activities, upon which the john reached completion she demanded her reward. After several words were exchanged the man, in what looked to be a fit of rage, smacked the woman around a little before deciding it wasn't worth his effort and tossed several notes on the cobblestone before her. Out of desperation she scrambled to clean up the money and shoved it down her blouse and carried on. No better a victim, he thought to himself, than one who wouldn't defend herself.

It was in this weakened state that he found himself chilled in the evening air, a curious reaction to his surroundings. He knew it wasn't cold, but to his flesh it was colder than it would have been to someone who didn't suffer from his condition. It was one of the many unsavory symptoms of brought on when he lacked what he required and didn't feed like he should have. But what options did he have when he knew that he was being monitored by someone else? He had taken too much life, even those of low life whores and dredges to remain unseen. But as his options dwindled he knew he would have to risk it. He was also increasingly aware of several other visible symptoms that would make the task more difficult - the pallid tone of his skin, the slight red tint to his eyes, and the gaunt features that had become more pronounced. He was, essentially, becoming the monster that he truly was as his carefully crafted mask fell away in favor of his true visage.

Pulling the collar of his wool overcoat to his throat he followed as the two women left the Two Brewers Public House with two male companions. If asked he couldn't tell their names, he had never noticed them before, but even from a distance he could tell that they were military. Upon this revelation he felt his stomach sink and for a brief moment considered taking another whore instead, a dangerous prospect that he didn't savor the thought of, but he knew it would be difficult. It was Bank Holiday Monday and the streets would soon become crowded and while this would have made it easier - less chance of being noticed - it also would have made it difficult in this state should the woman flee or call on help. Something of a double edge sword.

Knowing it might be awhile before his mark would be alone, he found himself sulking through each of the four pubs the group crawled to. He knew that he would have to stick to the shadows, stay out of sight, and remain anonymous. If he was spotted he would have easily been mistaken for one of the innumerable vagrants that had been known to drift around the area, but it was better if he remained unseen. At last, as he saw the window of opportunity he had been waiting for. "Pearly Poll" had left with her male companion and Tabram's had left her in the interest of his own drink. This meant that she would be alone and he could make his move. Sticking to the shadowy mists of the cobblestone streets he watched as she drifted from the crowded main thoroughfares to the back alley ways. He could almost taste the anticipation as he began to saunter behind her at a safe distance.

Checking his knife, an old friend and a tool he had come to rely upon to make his victims appear as though they were taken by a random act of gang violence over a creature of the dark, he make sure it was sharp and able. It was more ritual than need, as he had spent countless nights with a whetstone sharpening the blade to absolute perfection. It was so sharp, in fact, that he had once brushed the edge of the blade against his hand and drew amble amounts of blood. Once he was satisfied that it would handle the dire task ahead he replaced it in his overcoat and set out to catch up with the mark. It didn't take him long to reach where she was. "Hello, ma 'dam." he said drawing closer to the unsuspecting Martha Tabram. The whore spun around with a languid smile. He almost cringed when he laid eyes upon her. She was very much in her drink and would have taken with a swine had it offered.

"What can do you for?" she inquired. The man moved closer, making sure to keep to the shadows, and offered her a faint smile. "You're a handsome one." The whore's attempt as seduction was torrid and fell short, but he was in no condition to select someone with better linguistic skills. This woman, for better or worse, would have to sake his need. "It's a farthing for a suck and a threepence for anything else." she slurred as she licked her lips in another attempt to appear sultry. Again, the man cringed a little and swallowed back the bile that had started to line his mouth. Satisfied with the cost he reached into his overcoat pocket and removed a threepence. He watched curiously as Tabram's eyes lit up and she reached out for it. Being polite he handed her the coin and smiled. "What will it be, big man?" Her breath stank of drink as she breathed on him. Another wave of nausea made itself known as he considered her request. Once again, he found himself driving the distaste back. He wanted to be done with this and now. Any longer and he might have taken her in a manner that wasn't likely to offer him a chance to remain hidden.

Thinking over her inquiry for a moment longer, he tried to decide what the best position to strike from and end this hunger that was taking more of a toll upon him than he would have liked. Standing, he mused, would have been ideal. "Standing, if you don't mind." he spoke slowly and cautiously as she drew up her dark green skirt and light brown petticoat. "Just a moment." he said smiling as he unbuttoned his trousers, but before he could remove the first button she rushed her hands towards his manhood. Out of instinct he withdrew his blade and waited for her to do what she aimed to do. He had, despite his disastrous intent, paid the woman for her services. Looking around he saw more of the vagrants had stumbled upon their love nest. This time he shoved his hands in his coat and felt for the blade. He knew he would be needing it soon. "I was pondering if we might be able to do this elsewhere." Tabram looked at him strangely. "I would like to do this somewhere a bit less...filthy and crowded." he said motioning to the George Yard Building a few yards away.

Tabram mulled it over for a moment. "I don't see why not. Ha ha." the whore continued to slur, her breath thick with drink, and as she walked the distance he noticed she was having trouble keeping her feet on the ground. "You're a sly one..." she continued to try and flatter him, but by this point he wasn't listening to her speak. He was focused on the pulsating heartbeat that was overcoming his hearing now. He could almost feel the blood coursing through her, taste it even. "How's this?" she asked as they reached the first floor landing of the building. The need to feed had become so loud now that he could no longer see the woman in front of him as anything more than meat, an animal he had led to its own slaughter, about to offer him that which he needed more than she required her own life. It was a vicious cycle, and one that had its charms and faults, but one that he had undoubtedly become accustom to over the course of several hundred years.

"This will do." he said returning his attention back to removing his trousers. He knew if he was to attack now it would be a savage act. Not that he cared much, but he needed this to look like another rape that had went awry. This meant that he would have to force himself to focus. And focus meant doubts. He watched as she collected her skirts a second time and readied herself. For a brief moment he felt bad about what he was thinking of doing to this woman, the travesty that would be left in his wake, but his need outweighed her life. "I'm sorry about this." he said as he thrust her against the wall. Martha Tabram let out a loud moan as he body connected with the wall. He watched as an expression of fright painted itself across the whore's face. He threw up his hand as she tried to scream, muffling the sound before it could escape her lips. Out of recorded effort tilted his head to the left.

There was a long moment as he drew his razor sharp teeth down upon the throat of this woman and inhaled. The blood coursed out of her body, into his mouth, and through him. He could feel the overwhelming sense of relief wash over him as he felt the sanguine liquid crash upon the shores of his body's being and rush through him. Glancing down he could see her skin becoming pale, almost sickly with each new mouthful of her essence escaped her. Satisfied he had taken enough from her he let her body collapse against the wall and drew up his trousers. There was no sense in the indecency while he mutilated the corpse of this creature that had offered him something he so desperately required. Looking over the body he thought for a moment about what he had done and sighed. Now came the difficult task of making it appear to be a gang related murder.

Kneeling down in front of the whore he drew his blade and thrust it into her left lung. Again and again, five times in all, watching as a what was left of the light colored liquid escaped and stained the front of her dress. Licking his lips he continued his work by stabbing her in the right lung twice. There was an soft report as the oxygen escaped her lungs. Knowing he had done enough he found he couldn't stop himself as he thrust the knife into her heart. Still not satisfied he continued his work, eventually leaving five cuts in her liver, two in her spleen, and six in the stomach. Reeling back and looking at his work he knew it was more visceral than the last few, but he couldn't stop himself. Something had taken over him in that moment and caused the result before him. His mind wondered, briefly, if this was another wrinkle in the act of holding off the hunger for too long. He would have to monitor himself closer.

As he was about to slit her throat he could hear someone coming in the distance. Panic soon took over and he dashed out of the building and down the misty street. It wasn't until he was about a block down the road he realized that he was still covered in blood. His hands were saturated and he brought them up, licked them clean. Using his tongue he cleaned the edges of his mouth and shoved his hands back in his pocket and continued to walk as casually as he could. He had went over the edge on this last kill and he knew there would be a search for the culprit. It had went from a minor rape to full out murder. A murder unlike anything the bobbys of Whitechapel would have ever seen. This would bring the law down upon him if he wasn't cautious. He would have to lay low for a few nights now, sake his lust on the small vermin that were in plentiful supply around. What had he done?

* * *

The observer in the mist watched as Seeley Booth fled from the scene of his latest crime and smiled to himself. He had been following this creature of the night for months now, ever vigilant, ever in the shadows. He knew that the time to strike was drawing near. He could feel it in his bones as he watched Booth lick his wounds and disappear into the evening's mist as if nothing had occurred in that building moments earlier. But he knew, he had seen it all. Taken it in and written it down. And now he was watching closer. "Seeley Booth, I will be your down fall. You shall rue the day you ever heard the name Jackson Hodges, a name that will live in the history books as the man who had slain the Whitechapel Murderer."

A/N: This is a work of historical fiction and does not reflect the current relationship status of the characters of the television series. As such, it should be noted now that there will be occasional slash sections; namely femslash. I was asked to include this warning as to avoid too much shock when the eventual chapters are released. I can, however, assure you, that at the core it is a Booth/Brennan story, though. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy.


	2. The Secret in the Woman

**Chapter Two:  
** **The Secret in the Woman**

Dr. Timothy Killeen flicked the last of his smoke and crushed it under his boot. Taking a long breath, he filled his lungs with as much oxygen as he could in an effort to brace himself for what brutality lay ahead of him. He had been notified by the constabe on the scene, one Police Constable Barrett, that the latest victim was brutalized beyond anything he had ever seen before. Having known Barrett since the two were young lads on the up and up, he liked to think of him as an honest man, and one not prone to exaggeration, he had no doubt about his assessment of the body. He was thankful that it was quiet out still, but he knew that it was only by the sheer grace of it being the morning after a bank holiday. "Have you seen her yet?" the constable asked his old friend. Killeen could almost taste the sincerity of the sorrow that was hidden beneath his friend's voice.

"Can't say that I have, old chap." the medical examiner replied with a heavy heart. His friend let out a labored breath and Barrett rested his hand on Killeen's shoulder. "If she's as bad as you're saying she is...it will be the worst I have ever seen." The constable released his friend's shoulder and offered what could have only been called a weak smile. Killeen knew it was out of respect that he had faked the expression, to ease him of what horror might await, but it only intensified his desire to be as far from the scene as he could be. Taking one last look around he walked the last few feet to the George Yard Buildings. In his heart he knew what to expect, but the as the reality of the situation came into view, a startled expression crept its way into his soul.

Walking through the door, he was struck by the smell of death that filled the early morning air, and had to fight back the reflex to vomit. Placing his hand over his mouth with a kerchief he drew closer to the body. What he saw was beyond anything his friend could have ever described or readied him for. "This is how we found her, sir." another constable informed him as he knelt down to examine the body. "No one has touched her or tried to move anything, sir." the young constable reiterated. Killeen waved his hand to dismiss the young man, who upon his dismissal let escape a sigh of relief, and abruptly went back outside. For a moment Killeen almost felt a wave of jealousy course through him. That young man was lucky, his end of the examination was done. His own, however, was only about to begin. The examiner listened as the noticeable foot falls of his friend approached at his back.

The constable crossed himself quickly and knelt next to his friend. "Christ, have you ever seen anything like this? This brutality...?" his voice trailed as he looked over the late Martha Tabram. Killeen looked over his shoulder to his friend and offer the same curt smile his friend had offered minutes earlier. A lie of comfort, but in this line of work you learned to handle such things with a cool sense of calm. "I know you mentioned that you didn't need help, but one of the other constables thought it best to bring her in. Let her have a look?" Killeen directed his attention to the constable now, a stern look strewn across his face. "It wasn't my idea, Timothy. I assure you, I was against the thought of it." the constable defended himself. His friend returned his attention to the corpse. The last thing he wanted, or needed, was the help of the woman whose entrance was still enough ahead of him that he could ready himself.

With a noticeable amount of disturbance and sorrow in his tone, he conducted his initial assessment of the body in an effort to keep his mind on his work and not the woman that was about to make a fool of not only himself, but those around him. "The victim is female, middle age, standing about five foot and three inches. Unknown weight, but I would believe it's safe to say she was rather plump and well fed. For a whore, that is. She has dark hair and complexion." the examiner spoke slow, and shifted around so he could check the body for markings, making sure to allow enough time for his friend to record his citations. It was a grisly occupation to hold, but one both men took with equal sense of pride and duty. "There appears to be thirty...nine stab wounds. Five to the left lung, two to the right, one in the heart," Killeen could feel himself becoming ill as he noted each new thrust of the killer's knife, "five wounds to the liver, two to the spleen, and six...in the stomach." Constable Barrett shifted his weight uncomfortably. His friend felt the same apprehension and wished to follow, but knew he could not.

"What sort of man does something like this to a woman?" he asked his friend who was now standing next to him, still looking over the body. "I mean, look at her. Her clothing is thrust all about and it looks like she was with someone, fornicating, before they..." he tried to speak aloud his thoughts, but it wouldn't come. It was perched right upon the very tip of his tongue, but despite his best effort it would remain there, silent and unspoken. "Before he did this to her." Killeen looked to his friend and rested his hand on his shoulder now, returning the favor he was bestowed earlier. "What sort of man, Timothy?" His eyes were pleading and concern dripped out of his tone. "This just doesn't stand to reason."

The examiner studied his friend's face for a moment and thought about what he was asking. He had often wondered what would drive a man to do enact such wrath upon another, to unleash such a travesty, but time after time his mind could only reach one conclusion. "Not a man, but a monster." Barrett looked at his friend, confused. "I know of no man who would willingly do such a thing to another, let alone a woman, which leads me to conclude that we are not looking at the work of a man but a monster." the examiner explained. His friend nodded slowly, absorbing the information, and the two men directed their attention back to the body. "The attack seemed to be directed at the woman's breasts and groin...as if he was attacking her very femininity. I would also conclude that this was done with a small blade, likely an ordinary pen-knife, except this one," he said directing his companion's attention to the wound on the heart, "this was done with a dagger or bayonet." The constable had to look away quickly, as Killeen pointed out each of the wounds that he was speaking of.

While the two men mused over the victim inside the building, a young woman approached the George Yard Building with a stride that exuded tenacity. She could feel the eyes of every man standing outside on her, undressing her like a common whore, but forced the thoughts to the back of her mind as she had done so many times before. "I'm here to see the body." she said with authority. It was of no use, however. The constable standing at the door looked over and scoffed. "Do we have an issue?" she asked, slightly annoyed. Her tone was direct, but the constable only folded his arms across his chest and shifted his weight. "I'm going to ask you to remove yourself one final time before I remove you." The men around her raised their eyebrows at such a bold statement escaping the lips of a woman. It was unheard of to have a woman stand up to a man in such an audacious way.

"No one else is allowed in, miss." the constable replied, showing no signs of fear. Temperance looked the man over. "Especially a creature as lovely as you are." The men roared with laughter at their friend's remark. "Now, move along." The man waved his hand as if she were a dog to be dismissed. Setting her bag down she mimicked the constable, folding her arms across her chest. "I'm warning you, leave now and I won't have you removed from these premises. I would hate to harm a beautiful little doll such as yourself, but I will if I have to." Again, the men roared with laughter at their companion's playful tone. "Am I making myself clear?"

Temperance closed her eyes and counted to three. "Crystal." she said in the sweetest tone she could manage as she reached down and grasped the man's crotch, hard. The man howled in pain as he dropped to his knee. An expression of anguish was written across his face as she tightened her grip on him and she drew a smile across her lips. "Now, let's try this once more, shall we? I am Temperance Brennan and I am here to look upon the body inside. I am to speak to Dr. Killeen. Do...I...make...myself...clear?" she asked, speaking slow and allowing her tone to become almost sing-song. She watched as the man, still writhing in pain, nodded swiftly. Satisfied, she released his crotch and smiled to him. "Thank you, Constable."

As she entered the landing she took in the state of the body, the amount of blood, and the obvious dishevel of her clothing. It was obvious to her that the woman had been raped before slain with a sense of brutality that almost wounded her. She had seen much, but nothing quite this vicious before. "Temperance Brennan, might I declare that you're a sight to behold this fine morning?" a male voice called out from behind her. She could almost taste the sarcasm that seeped out of the man's voice. Her attention was directed at the victim, taking in the spring sided boots she was wearing. She could tell there was considerable wear and tear on them, indicating that they were old. "Temperance?" the man's voice echoed through her head now. An annoying fly buzzing in the room.

Upset that her attention was removed from the victim, she spun around quickly to meet Dr. Killeen. "I would like it better if you didn't declare anything of the sort," she said, contorting her face in an expression of distaste, "but thank you. What can you tell me of this woman?" The examiner blinked several times, unaccustomed to such directness in a woman, and told her of the wounds and weapon he thought might have been used in the slaying. "I would concur, doctor. Have you made note of these?" she asked, directing Killeen's attention to the two small marks on Tabram's throat. "These don't appear to be of the same weapon you described. What do you make of them?" The examiner returned to his position and ran his hand through his thick auburn hair. Temperance allowed herself a moment of respite as she took in the satisfaction of showing up the lead medical examiner.

"I don't know what to make of them, miss. A needle, perhaps? To subdue his victim before he...ravaged her body?" he asked, coming off as equal parts arrogant and uncertain. Temperance wanted to scoff the man for such a limited assumption, but she held it back. Still, it remained perched on the tip of her tongue at the ready. "How did you know that was there? We have been over the body several times now, in detail, and had no seen that. How did you?" She could feel his masculine preconceptions rising to the surface as he spoke. She could tell that he was like the chauvinists back at the door. She was a woman, and because of that, she wasn't as intelligent as he was. "I'm waiting." he remarked as she directed her attention back to the body. Instantly, she found herself batting back the desire to deck the man in front of her. But she knew better than to attempt such an act and forced the need down. Deep.

There was an uncomfortable silence as she knelt down at that body, blood incidentally soaking through her own skirt, and examined the throat. Something stood out to her, almost calling to her, as she dug her finger in the neck wound. A small report came from the pallid flesh as she reached in as deeply as she could. The men let out an exclamation of discomfort as she searched the dead woman's flesh for something she wasn't even sure would be there. "I noticed it," she explained as she fished around, "because I was looking for it. You think that because I'm a woman, I lack the required skills to do this. Hand me a set of tweezers from my bag." she asked motioning the two men to her bag that was resting a few feet away. Barrett reached over and handed her the tool. "But you would be wrong in your assumptions." She removed something small from the wound and quickly hid it in her hand.

Killeen looked at the woman before him and scoffed. "I'm not wrong. I might have missed a small detail, but despite your...unorthodox examination you yield nothing." Temperance was flush with anger now and he tried to ease her wounding. "I'm not saying you lack the 'required skills', but you might like to remain in the kitchen or the streets. Now, if you'll excuse us we need to remove the body." Killeen motioned for her to leave. He watched as she packed her belongings and contorted her face again in an expression of disapproval. He could have cared less. He wasn't in the business of entertaining women who thought they were men with their queer thoughts and beliefs that the sexes were equal. "Thomas, I would like this body taken back to my offices."

Barrett motioned for the men to clean the woman and take her to the examiner's office a second time before anything was done. As watched them removing the body he noticed a man he had never seen before, dressed in an old duster, entering the room. "Are you the one who found her?" the stranger asked, his voice rough around the edges, almost as if he had been in his drink. The constable looked the man over and scoffed. "I'm not interested in what you think of me, quite honestly, what I would like to know is if you're the man who discovered her. Or not." the stranger's tone was intense. Barrett shifted on his feet and studied the stranger's face. "Well?" he asked, clearly becoming impatient. If he kept this up, Barrett would shackle him for being disrespectful.

"No, I was not the one who stumbled upon this butchery. That honor would belong to one of the residents, John Reeves. Might I inquire as to who you are?" the constable asked. The stranger mulled over the information and reached into his coat pocket. Barrett watched as he removed a small vial with a light blue liquid. Inside was something small, almost too small to see, floating about. "What the hell is that?" he asked looking directly at the man's hand.

The stranger replaced the vial in his pocket and studied the constable. "It doesn't matter what that is. What does matter is the fact that you forget that we had this conversation, constable. I would tell you why, but...I would only lead you into more danger than you're already teetering over." The stranger flashed a smile at the constable and turned to leave. Barrett reached out to the man, but wasn't expecting the reaction he had received. The man took his hand, and in one movement of practiced ease, swiftly forced it up, breaking the bones, and sending Barrett to the floor. "Back off," he replied with a direct tone, "and have your friends back off if they value their lives. What you're looking for isn't a gang or a vagrant. It's something much, much worse. And if you don't, I will not be held responsible for your deaths." the stranger said leaving the room. Barrett watched as the other officers seemed oblivious to him.

Once she was clear of the men and the onlookers Temperance removed the small tooth from her hand and slipped it into a vial. She had never seen anything like it, but she knew it would be an important clue in the case. She was also certain that she had to insinuate herself into this case, as she had managed to do several times before in cases much like this one. This was the second killing that resembled what, upon first glance, appeared to a gang related murder, but when you looked closer to revealed itself to be something else. "What are you?" she asked herself as she examined the small fracture of what could have been a tooth in the morning sunlight. As she watched it jostle around in the vial she knew that this was the first clue and one that would be vital to unraveling the mystery of who killed the whore Martha Tabram and her mother, twenty one years earlier.


	3. The Faith in the Darkness

**Chapter Three:  
** **The Faith in the Darkness**

Despite the fact that it was the middle of August, there was still an unusual chill in the evening air as Jackson Hodgins approached the Christ Church. He couldn't help but chuckle at the ironic nature of the House of God's location on Fournier Street - it was directly across the way from the Ten Bells Pub, a local watering hole and refuge for the dredges of society. As he drew closer he soon realized that if he drank himself in excess, he could stumble across the street, and ask God to absolve his sins. It was a useful thought, he reckoned, but he soon cleared his mind before he entered he found himself taking in the inane beauty of the church. From the Gothic design of the steeple, which was two hundred and twenty five feet in height, to the ornate clock that rested a hundred feet above him, and the massive stone columns adorning the main entrance. It was a building of exquisite beauty. Too bad it was seldom used for the intention Nicholas Hawksmoor had believed it would be when he had crafted it.

Jackson considered, for a brief moment, indulging himself before entering the House of God, but he knew better than that. He might have spent his life hunting the foulest creatures to walk the Earth, but he was respectful of the Lord, despite his occasional slip now and then. He was only human, after all. At least, this was the sense of logic he told himself each time he had done something that the Church would have looked down upon. Once crossed through the arcade he found himself in the vestibule. He was unsure where his contact would be so he entered the nave. He couldn't tell if it was him, but there was an intensity that hung in the air as he crossed the nave, slowly crossing to the chancel where he found the man he was looking for knelt before the visage of Jesus Christ on the cross. Kneeling before the Lord, the hunter of vile creatures preformed the Signum Crucis, the Sign of the Cross, whispering his prayers in the Latin tongue he had been taught since he was young. "In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spritus Sancti."

"Jackson Hodgins," an elderly man dressed in a traditional white alb spoke from next to him, "I have been expecting you. I knew you would come once the slayings had caught your attention." Jackson rose from his prayers and embraced the elder Priest. "It has been too long, my son." Withdrawing from the embrace Jackson looked down and studied his hands, nervous. The elder priest had always made him feel small, as if he was the same child from when the two had first encountered one another. "But, such is the life of a man who serves as the Hand of God. Come, tell me what troubles you. Speak of your travels." Father Gelding said as Jackson directed his attention to the priest in front of him.

He found himself studying his friend's features, the lines that had been etched across his face in his absence, the white hair where there was once an auburn tint, becoming increasingly thin. But what had held his attention the longest was the cold blue eyes that cut through him as if searching his soul. "You know me too well, Father, but as much as I would like to indulge your fancy of hearing the tales of my exploits I must remind you that I am here on official business." Jackson could see how his response had pained his companion. Despite his effort to offer a stoic facade, it wounded him equally. "But, I do believe that I could spare a few minutes to discuss an exploit or two, should it entertain you." he added. A small smile creased across the old man's face and for the first time since he had walked through the vestibule felt a calm pass through him.

The priest licked his lips and rested an arm around Jackson. "Come with me to my office. I'm sure I can muster us some tea." Father Gelding shuffled along, a little slower than the last time Jackson had been around to see him, but Jackson following along in no rush. He knew there was nothing more important or demanding of his attention at the moment than spending time with the man who had both taught him most of what he knew and raised him as if he was his own. He was also aware that despite his years, Father Gelding could still lay him out as easily as a young man could. It was a thought that kept Jackson honest and in line, along with the deep respect he held for the elder priest before him. "Do you still like Earl Grey or have we become more refined in our tastes?" Jackson didn't mind, but he new that the priest would keep asking until he relented and consented to one or another.

"That would be wonderful, Father." he said as the two men entered the office. Jackson felt a warmth as he looked around the room and saw that it hadn't been altered much in the time it had been since he was last in there, a little more than two years earlier. "I see you have left it the same as it was before," Jackson noted aloud as he watched the elder priest wander off to make the tea, "it still feels like...home." In the distance he could hear the almost amusing laughter of Father Gelding floating through the air. "I like it." There were precious few things that felt like home to him now, and as much as he would have liked to taste the easier, simple, normal life he knew it was not for him. This was, like it or not, his home.

Several minutes later Father Gelding emerged from the small kitchenette that was attached to his office with a tray holding two cups of warm tea and the kettle. Jackson rushed over to remove the tray from the man's hands and rested it on the desk. Father Gelding started to scoff at the youthful man, but allowed him to take the tray from him. Jackson knew he liked to keep his mobility about him, but his gesture was more out of respect than concern. He knew Father Gelding would understand this. Even if he wanted to react like a man wounded. "It warms my heart to hear you say that, Jack." he replied. Jackson felt himself blush a little bit. No one called him 'Jack' except Gelding. "Now, should we speak of the recent slayings or one of your delightful exploits? Both are of equal interest to me, my son." Father Gelding took a seat and motioned for Jackson to do the same.

Taking a seat Jackson took a sip of the tea, feeling the warmth of the delicious liquid flow through him and heat up the chill that he had felt in his bones, and smiled. The old man still knew how to brew the best tea in London, no doubt. "I would suspect that we should speak of business first. I can adorn you with stories once we have discussed the current state of affairs, if you fancy such." Gelding nodded and took a sip of his tea, slowly lowering the cup, and resting it on the desk. "I should start by saying that I am deeply ashamed that it has taken me so long to return." Jackson lowered his head in shame as he spoke. Father Gelding reached across the desk and tried to lift his head. "I was taught better," he mumbled, "and despite this I still took much longer to return than I should have. I feel as though I have brought you shame and pain, how can I make this up to you?"

"You do not shame me, my child. You are doing something that I wish I could have done - the work of God. You cleanse the streets of creatures that no one else knows about. I might be lonely, now and again, but I know that you are out there. Doing God's will. And that's enough for me. Now, raise your head and speak to me." He couldn't help but smile at his surrogate father's words. The man always knew how to brighten his day, even now, thirty two years later. Perhaps it was because of the calm tone he always took, even when scolding him for things that he had done wrong. It never felt like he was upset, but disappointed by his actions.

Collecting his thoughts, Jackson leaned in and rested the cup of tea on the desk. "As I'm sure you are aware Scotland Yard believes these murders to be random acts of violence," he explained as Father Gelding nodded, "but the reality is the slayings are something much more sinister. I believe that they are the work of Seeley Booth." Jackson let the name hang in the air for a moment. He watched as the priest chewed on it for a few seconds and motioned for him to continue, his expression solemn. "I believe that Booth is back. I have been observing a man I believe to be him, from a distance, for the last few weeks and I am almost certain it is him." Jackson could feel himself becoming tense as he spoke. It had been a long time since a window such as this had opened itself to him.

Gelding leaned back in his chair and thought about what Jackson was saying. "You're certain it is him?" he inquired gently. Jackson nodded and took another drink from his tea. "I don't know what to say, but I must warn you that he is very dangerous. You of all people should know this." the elder priest warned. Jackson felt himself become weightless as Father Gelding spoke. "You know what he is capable of. You know that he is nothing like the others, and you cannot do this on your own. I beg of you to bring someone else along. I know a young man who, while young and a touch optimistic in his views, is as capable as you are." Gelding offered, leaning on the table and folding his hands. Jackson wanted to scoff at the idea, but bit back the desire.

The idea that Gelding didn't think he could handle Booth on his own was appalling, but Jackson didn't allow his disappointment show. "Who do you have in mind, Father?" Gelding closed his eyes. "I would like to meet this companion you seek to wed me to. I would also like to be bold for a moment and declare that I do not like this idea that you think I cannot handle him alone. But, I respect that you have been doing this much longer than I." Jackson knew he had to select his words with care. Gelding might have appeared old and frail, but he was still more than able to hold his own if the situation arose that he would have to. He was also far wiser than he was and as much as Jackson hated it, a better man. One who didn't react on rash thoughts.

The old man smiled back at Jackson and wrote down a name on a scrap of paper that was on the desk. "His name is Lance Sweets. He's young, as I have mentioned, but I feel his is able bodied enough to handle himself." Gelding slid the information across to Jackson. "I want you to treat him like you would a brother. Guard him, teach him, instruct him. Do not let him out of your sight." Father Gelding said leaning back in his chair as he drank from his cup. "I will let him know to expect you." Jackson took the slip and rested it inside his duster. "He is, like you, a son to me."

"I shall treat him as such, Father." Jackson replied and finished the cup of tea. "Where shall I be meeting Lance?" he inquired. Gelding informed him of where to be and when. "I understand, Father. Might I ask how you know of Lance? How you came to be his mentor?" Jackson asked, allowing his curious nature to be the best of him. Gelding's face became grave. "You don't have to tell me if you do not wish, I am only curious." The priest crossed himself and leaned back once more. Jackson knew he had struck a nerve, but he couldn't help himself. It was his curious nature that had endeared him for the Father in the first place and had served him well in his conquests over the years.

Father Gelding inhaled deeply and directed himself to Jackson. "You do not speak of this with Lance, Jack. What I am about to reveal does not leave this room. Should it...you will have betrayed the trust I have left in you." Jackson nodded and crossed himself. Gelding continued, "Several months after our last visit I was in the confessional when a young man, Lance Sweets, came to me. His family had been slain in the night by a strange man. He had been sleeping, but their cries had awakened him and he ran. He ran as fast and as far as he could, finally happening up the Christ Church and me." Gelding explained. Jackson could sense a hint of his own life in the story being told. Memories that had scabbed over soon became fresh and raw.

"How old was he?" Jackson found himself asking. Gelding let out a labored sigh and formed a small smile on his face. Jackson knew that Gelding was trying to explain something and he shouldn't have cut in, but the smile was disarming. "Was he as old as I was when I came to you...all those years ago, Father?" Jackson finally asked, letting it hang awkwardly in the air. Gelding closed his eyes and tried to recall. "I would like to know, if I might." Jackson said, trying to help his father's memory along. An act he had done many times before when he had lost something or needed to remember an appointment.

Gelding reached across the desk and poured another cup of tea for each of them. "He was about eighteen years old, Jack. When he arrived at the church. I took him in, sheltered him, like I had you, and he filled the void that was left when you set out upon your task." The room became silent for a moment as the two men drank their tea. "But, like you, he wanted to avenge his family's demise and I offered him the knowledge he would need to do so. It's as simple as that." Gelding let out a breath and Jackson watched as his hand trembled. There was a raw nerve that had been struck in the man and Jackson knew from the tremble in his hand that he would only continue if he must.

Jackson stood up and walked around the desk to his father's back. "Father, let me help you. You don't have to do this alone. I can wait on Booth. I have been tracking him long enough to know where he will be and when. His victims. I can locate him easily. You don't seem to be well." Gelding scoffed at Jackson's offer and motioned for him to be seated. "I'm sorry for leaving you so long between visits. I will return as soon as I can." he said, walking to the door. Stopping for a moment, he felt an overwhelming sense of loneliness. "I know I don't say it enough and I know I never did as a child, but I love you, Father Gelding. Without you...I don't know what type of man I would have become. I owe you my life." Gelding smiled. "I'll return soon."

As he left the Christ Church Jackson felt like someone was watching him. Looking around he saw no one in the streets, not even outside the Ten Bells Pub. Turning his collar to the cold and damp August evening, he made his way across the street. He might have been raised by a man of God, but he had needs that even God couldn't slake. Tonight he would find himself a woman to lie with, comfort, and in the morning he would meet with Lance Sweets and return his attention back to the task at hand, one that had occupied his life for much too long - hunting the man who had killed his family, Seeley Booth.


	4. The Lust in the Relationship

_**Chapter Four:  
**_ _ **The Lust in the Relationship**_

It was a Tuesday evening, but the Princess Alice Pub was anything but desolate as whores and sailors found themselves knee deep in their drinks and each other's arms, for a small fee of course. Temperance Brennan walked in, making sure to keep her head low, and sulked to a table in the back where she could be alone with her thoughts. Glancing around to make sure that prying eyes wouldn't be cast upon her, Temperance reached into the pocket of her overcoat and removed the vial with the strange tooth within. "What are you?" she asked the enigma as she rolled it around in her fingers feeling its peculiar weight from within the vial, watching as it shifted and tumbled in the vial. "I should like to know." she whispered.

As she raised the vial in the direction of the oil lamps in the room she watched intently as it became transparent. "Curious." she said to her self as she continued to study the small specimen. Several minutes later after she had satisfied her innate curiosity about the origin of the tooth she set the vial on the table. Despite what little the empirical evidence revealed, she still in the dark about the true meaning behind the source or the reason for the fractured tooth being in Martha Tabram's throat. She knew that if she desired to quench her thirst for knowledge that she would have to seek more answers. Only then would she have what she required to resolve this lingering unknown.

Realizing suddenly that she had not had much of anything to drink in almost twenty four hours, she collected the vial and returned it to her overcoat as she made her way to the bar. When the keep asked her what she fancied she consider the inquiry for a moment before deciding upon a finger of Gin. It was not something womenfolk were known to drink often, but she was never much like the other women. It was a thought that continued to lurk in the depths of her mind. It was because of her response the keep raised an eyebrow, commenting that it was strange for a lady to be drinking Gin, as he removed a small glass and resting it in front of her. "On the rocks?" She shook her head and watched as he poured, careful and full of intention. "Anything else I can do for you?"

Temperance shook her head and carried the Gin back to the table she had occupied previously. Upon reaching the table she noticed that she was no longer alone. "You didn't come home this evening." A familiar female voice echoed through the halls of her mind. The woman of science looked over to her friend, Angela "Pearly Gates" Montenegro, crossly. "You never come home when you're troubled." she said, dismissively, taking Temperance's Gin in her hand and swirling it. "So, I came looking for you. Is this Gin, sweetie?" She could hear the concern in her friend's tone and snatched the liquor away from her. It was quite like Angela to watch out for her, even when she didn't desire it.

"There was another one," she replied taking a small sip from the glass, "and yes, it is Gin. Don't judge me. I can drink what I fancy." Angela leaned back in her seat and folded her arms across her chest. Temperance set the Gin down and removed the vial from her overcoat. Temperance held it out for her to examine it herself. After a long moment of consideration Angela leaned back in, took the small vial, and looked at the specimen within. "I found this in the woman's throat. Lodged in what I can only describe as being a bite mark." She mimicked the location of the markings on Tabram's throat using her middle and index finger. "I have no idea what it is from, though. I am quite troubled with this, but the reason I didn't come home was the visceral nature of last night's attack." Temperance could feel her skin crawl as she sat down across from her friend. "It was a bit more disturbing than those before it."

Reaching across the table Angela rested her hand on her friend's hand and smiled. "Honey, come home. I need you." Angela cooed. She could sense her friend's need and looked over to the Gin resting on the table between them. "Leave it. I won't have you drunk another evening. It's bad enough when you're distracted." Angela said taking the Gin and pouring what was left on the floor. There was an audible escape of shock and anger from men and women alike across the room. "Gin is a man's drink, Temperance. Come home with me and be a woman for once." Angela leaned back in her seat and looked to her friend. Temperance could feel a hint of tension in Angela's tone, but knew better than to provoke it. "Please."

Temperance mulled over the request. "I should like to return home," she replied, sullenly, "and I could use a distraction." Angela drew a smile upon her face and stood up. Reaching out, she took Temperance by the hand and drew her up. "Can you not wait until we are alone before you devour me?" she asked as a playful smirk drew across her tender lips. It didn't take long before all eyes in the bar were drawn tightly across the room to the two women. Temperance could feel herself flush with embarrassment. It was not something she liked to broadcast, despite what Angela continued to urge her to do. She might drink like a man and take the work of one, but she was a woman. Alas, as Angela led her out of the Princess Alice Pub and across Thrawl street to their small, but comfortable flat that the two women rented together she felt all those feelings wash away.

Approaching the front door, Temperance felt Angela's hand tighten around her own. Something was on her mind, troubling her as well. "Do you feel that?" Angela asked, her tone as cold as steel. Temperance tilted her head to the left. "Something doesn't feel right. It's almost as if we're being watched. Can't you feel it, Tempe?" she asked. While she wasn't sure if someone was watching them, she could sense that there was something amiss in the air. "I don't like it, honey. Let's head in." her friend said as she eased open the door. It wasn't the first time Angela had mentioned the strange feeling that something or someone was out there waiting on them. It was a troubling enough thought that women were being maimed, right there in Whitechapel, and to add this to the list? It was almost too much for the woman of science to take. So, like so many times before, she brushed it from her mind.

Once inside Angela lit a few candles. Temperance had always liked that about her. Despite the fact that she could afford better lighting, Angela had insisted that there be nothing but candle light in their home. It created a romantic feeling, eased the mind, and soothed the soul she would often reason when Temperance tried to offer to acquire something less hazardous. Something that didn't stand the chance of burning their home down to little more than cinder. But her lady friend would have none of it. Once she had offered to have gas lighting installed in their home and Angela had threatened to withhold the consummation of their relationship if she did such a thing. Now it had become an amusing quirk that she had come to admire about her companion.

"I should like to draw a bath," Temperance said as Angela returned, having lit all the candles in their home, "once I am finished..." she let her voice trail as she drew Angela closer, embracing her. Angela let out a small gasp, but Temperance rested her delicate finger upon her friend's lips to silence her. "There's no need for words now." Angela beamed in the soft glow of the candle light and drew her arms around Temperance's waist. The two women locked eyes, taking in what pleasures they could from one another's soul, and their lips soon met. Temperance could taste the sweetness of her companion's lips as her tongue massaged the roof of her mouth. "I'll be back." she replied, lightly touching Angela's nose.

As she undressed Temperance could feel a slight chill rush through the room. Glancing around she saw that the small window in the bathroom was closed and returned her attention back to drawing her bath. Listening to the water fill the copper tub her mind focused on the remains of the late Martha Tabram. How she had brutalized, a blade driven into her repeatedly, and the final blow to the heart. She could not bring herself to fathom who could have done such an act, but she knew that it was not a man. No man could harbor such hatred of women to commit such a criminal act. It was the work of an inhuman monster. The same one who had been attacking women across Whitechapel. Tabram, however, had been his first actual victim. Still, she knew that Scotland Yard would scoff at her theories as they always had and mark it off as gang brutality. Who could take the ranting of a woman seriously? Especially one prone to hysterics.

Trying to clear her mind she removed the white linen under dress she was wearing and let the cold air rush over her naked body. She felt herself becoming slightly aroused by the cold, but she knew it was more reaction than actual arousal. Directing her attention back to the tub she shut off the water tap and dipped her index finger in to test the temperature of the water. Just above room temperature. Satisfied, she climbed in the tub, slowly lowering herself in, and allowing the cool water to envelop her form. Sinking down until the water level reached her chin, she found comfort and rested her arms on the outside of the copper rim, still slick with the water that had embraced them moments earlier. Once she was comfortable, she let her mind drift.

Her mind continued to drift back to the transparent tooth that she had removed from the victim's throat. She knew there was something about it, something out of reach, but she found it difficult to solidify a theory. As she soaked, the answer seemed to float in front of her. Was it from an animal? Her mind scoffed at the assumption that it could have been anything other than that. The question then became what animal had such a razor sharp tooth that became transparent in the light. There was also the inconstancy of it having bitten the dead woman's neck. It was this minor detail that teased at a much different answer than a simple animal attack.

In the distance Temperance could hear Angela becoming restless. She could tell that her companion was frightened by the recent slaying and attacks, which she had every right to be frightened about, and knew that it would fall upon herself to make sure that she didn't suffer from another bout of feminine hysteria; a condition that Temperance herself didn't even accept as being a real condition, but the men who called themselves medical doctors would often diagnose a hysterical and frightened woman with. It was also a condition that she herself had been accused of having on several occasions when her theories had went unheard and she became passionate about being heard. If only she had been born a son, she could have changed so many things. So many things would have been easier for her. But that was not the life she was afforded. Pushing these to the back of her mind she lifted herself from the water and reached for the soft linen robe that was resting near the door and wrapped it around her still wet body.

Exiting the bathroom she noticed there was a faint, almost sweet, aroma emanating from some of the candles Angela had dotted around the apartment. Temperance smiled to herself at her companion's romantic subtext. Following the sweet scent of lavender that filled the air now, she found herself at the door to their bedroom. From inside she could hear the soft sound of Angela removing her clothing. Taking a long breath and waiting for the final article to float to the floor, she counted the seconds between each gentle report of her friend's clothing resting upon the floor. It had become something of an evening ritual for the women and one that Temperance found she had enjoyed more and more with each passing evening.

"Good evening, beautiful." Angela whispered as Temperance opened the door. Her breath was taken away as her eyes were met with the sight of her friend's soft body, naked and slick with oils, awaiting her. "I have been waiting for you." she whispered as she drew closer. Temperance could feel herself becoming aroused now, intentionally by the beauty she beheld in Angela's slender frame, as she drifted closer. Reaching out she could almost touch her companion, but before she could she had taken her hand and was leading her to the bed. "You won't need that." her friend spoke softly as she reached the bed.

For a moment Temperance didn't know what she was referencing. Once it dawned upon her what she wouldn't need, she removed the linen robe and exposed her own flesh to her companion. Angela took in a shallow breath and leaned back on the bed. Temperance crawled on the bed, climbing on top of her friend, and felt a small jolt rush across her naked flesh as their bodies met. Angela shifted her weight under her, wrapping her legs around Temperance, drawing her down. She could feel the soft skin of her breasts touching Angela's and uttered a light moan. Angela beamed, running her left hand along the small of Temperance's back. She fought the urge to arch, but she couldn't control the muscle's reactions to the light touch and felt herself climb.

Taking back control over her body, she ran her right hand along Angela's wait, almost tracing the outline of her body. "Mon Cherie," she whispered, using her left hand to support herself, "you smell of the Heavenly." Angela laughed softly and brought her lips to meet Temperance's. There was a long moment as she let herself lower down to Angela's level, their two bodies melting into one. Using her left hand now she followed the curves of her companion's body, resting her hands upon her breast. She could feel her heart beating in her chest as she brought her other hand to cup the other. She could feel Angela's hand running along her side now, between her thighs.

Just as she could feel her companion penetrating her body, she thrust her tongue into her mouth, and tightened her own hands around Angela's delicate breasts. She wanted to scream in ecstasy, but all she could manage was to succumb to her lover's touch and found herself sliding and shifting as Angela's fingers rolled inside of her. Before she knew it she was kneading her friend's breasts, digging her nails in, almost drawing blood as the coarse feeling of her nipples etched across the palm of her hand. She could feel her own had become solid, stiff, and ready. As the two women withdrew of one another's lips, they rolled over and she found herself on the bottom now.

She knew what came next would be better than any other feeling in the world, as Angela let her tongue roll between Temperance's breasts, her breath heavy. She could feel as Angela's tongue started to trace her right breast, following it along down to her nipple. Temperance used her left hand to trace the side of Angela's face and her right to glide along her thighs, finally reaching her own destination. As she thrust her finger in, penetrating Angela, she felt her friend wrap her lips around her nipple and bite down softly. Both women arched in synchronization with one another. Temperance felt her eyes flutter in absolute ecstasy as Angela moaned loudly. It was in that moment that both women had what they needed and felt complete.

As Temperance watched Angela climb off the bed and dress herself, she couldn't help but admire her body. She had known since she was young that men did nothing for her. She had tried to be with a man once, but he had hurt her, beaten her, and drawn blood. But Angela was nothing like her. Angela walked the streets at night, with her friends, and was defiled for pittance. "Why don't you stay with me tonight, Angie. You know I have money. You could end this life and be a kept woman." she ran her hands along her body, still feeling the residual electricity that had been between them minutes earlier. Angela turned, a concerned look written across her brow. "What's wrong?" Temperance asked collecting their sheets and crawling to the end of the bed.

"You know I can't do that. Mary needs me and Polly is feeling ill, and...I can't. I can't live off your money, Sweetie. I cannot do it and feel confident." she reasoned. Temperance let out a sigh and returned to her position on the bed. "You know I love you," Angela replied climbing back on the bed and kissing her lover softly, "but I have to do this. If I don't...others will talk. You know what they do to freaks like us." Her words cut through Temperance like a razor blade, but she knew she was right. Loving another woman was a criminal offense of the highest order, it was against God's Law, and the two women would likely be crucified for having such an affair. "I'll be back later." she whispered and Temperance watched as she walked out of the room.

Rolling over to the small tableau that was next to the bed she fetched her cuttie and stuffed a pinch of tobacco inside. Reaching for the matches that she had rested next to the cuttie she removed on, struck it, and took a long breath, holding in the smoke. She knew there was no logic in fighting with Angela. She would walk the streets no matter what. It didn't matter that she had money, left to her by her father Max, Angela wouldn't hear it. As she released the smoke from her lungs she felt a sense of dread wash over herself and she worried for her lover. Who knew what lurked in the shadows or what those sexually starved men would do to her?

And it was in that moment that her mind went back to Martha Tabram, a woman of the evening, who had been brutally murdered. She knew Angela could hold her own, but would she be able to hold off whoever had done that? Concern set in and she knew that no matter how much she could try, she wouldn't be sleeping tonight until Angela walked in that door and drew her close for warmth until the morning sun broke over the horizon.


	5. The Blood on the Alter

_**Chapter Five:  
**_ _ **The Blood on the Alter**_

Seeley Booth leaned back against the stone wall behind him and watched as two women left the Princess Alice Pub. With his attention drawn to the women, he found that he was familiar with one. He knew her shoulder length raven-black hair, the caramel tan, her delicate features. Seeley was unaware of her actual name, however, he knew her by the name the whores and undesirables in the dark alleys would call her. "Pearly Gates," he said to himself, enjoying the taste of her name on his tongue, "who are you with on this fine evening?" Curious, he waited until the women were far enough ahead of him that neither one would notice his presence and removed himself from the wall. Keeping several feet back he followed the two women to 221-B Thrawl Street. Their home, as he had been able to deduce from his occasional watch over Ms. Gates as she drifted to and fro.

As the two women reached the door to what he assumed was a comfortable abode he found himself unable to look away from the companion Pearly Gates had. He watched with an intensity that he seldom allowed as she came into view and stole his breath away, swiftly and sudden. His attention was drawn to her pale blue eyes, losing himself for the brief moment that they were his to behold. He wanted nothing else in that moment than to taste of her delicate lips, to lose himself in her, and feel the touch of her skin against his own flesh. He knew he would have to reel himself back, but he was having trouble focusing as she entered the small apartment and shut the door. Seeley found himself standing outside the main window, watching with a burning intensity, before he knew what he was doing.

Slowly he withdrew himself from the window, directing his attention back to the soft luminescence of the oil lamps in the evening had cast upon the still damp cobblestone street ahead of him. He listened as the slick stones made a noticeable squeaking under his leather boots as he walked, making it increasingly difficult to sneak upon his prey. This didn't bother him much, having fed the previous evening, and he had set out tonight as an evening to resolve a few lingering threads. He would have a chance to feed upon another before the evening was over. The question was only if it would be one of the whores he would come across or one of the loose ends he was desiring to end before it became a fray and was beyond his own control. Relieving his mind of the troubles ahead of himself, he tried to focus on just existing within the evening; to blend in and mingle a little bit. A task much easier now that he had fed and refreshed himself.

Making his way along Commercial Street the creature of the night found that it was a bit warmer out than the evening before, but he knew that some of the warmth he was feeling came from the fresh blood that was now coursing through his tainted veins. Blood he had stolen from Martha Tabram, a common whore, and one he knew no one would miss. No one except the dredges that stalked the evening along side of him. He could hear their faint murmurs, whispering tales of slaughter, saying that the location she had been recovered from was like an abattoir. The thought that he had managed to make the George Yard Building an abattoir amused him; offering a slight rise out of him. No one had ever said such a thing of his craft before.

In the distance he could hear the cacophony emanating from the Britannia Pub. One of the whores he favored, Mary Kelly, was a staple at the Britannia. For a moment he considered calling on her, but thought better of it. There would be a time for her later; but he was unable to stop himself and was soon standing in the main entrance. Glancing around the room he saw no sign of Kelly. Moving further in he allowed the scents around him to fill his nostrils in hopes of being able to catch the faint scent of her lilac perfume, a small gift he had bestowed upon her several weeks prior, but found that she was not in attendance yet. "Perhaps," he said aloud to himself, "later." Defeated, he collected himself and started to walk to the exit when a man, deep in his drink, spun around to face him. "What do you want?" Seeley asked the man. The stench of his drink assaulted the air between them.

The man shot him a toothy grin. "You...out of my pub, drifter." Seeley could smell the ale on the man's breath and fought back the desire to vomit. "Now leave...before this becomes...violent." the man was speaking with a slur now. Seeley looked him over, considering the possibility of devouring the man, but found himself thinking the better of it. The man offered him an offended look upon taking notice that the vampire was looking him over. "You want trouble, mandrake?" The man continued to slur his speech as he raised his fists in the air.

"I don't fancy much of anything," Seeley replied dryly, "now move out of the way I won't make you swallow your tongue." The man stumbled back a few feet, almost knocking into the man behind him, and thought about what he was saying. "I didn't believe you had much else to say of value." the vampire replied and shoved the man. He fell on the bar, spilling his drink all over the wooden surface. Seeley could hear him shouting expletives about him as he left, but his mind was already focused on something else. He could hear the man screaming now, and a loud report following, but he was now too far along to care much for what the man in his drink said or experienced.

Following the encounter in the Britannia, Seeley found it was best to focus on Edward Gelding. He had heard whispers that the old man was living in Whitechapel now and he felt it was about time to pay his old friend a visit; to make sure he still understood the terms of their agreement. Seeley could feel the hunger within gnawing at him, demanding more, but there was still time. He would speak with Gelding and then feed. It wouldn't be the first time that he had put it off in the interest of following through on something else. He knew the consequences, the dangers, and the rewards. He was also aware that even if he didn't feel tonight he would be able to set it off for another few evenings. Tonight, he knew, would be about seeing an old friend.

Once he approached the Christ Church he could smell the familiar scent of Gelding. It had been almost four decades since their last encounter, but the scent was still strong in Seeley's memories. He knew the man well and while he was a slight bit taken aback when he had heard his old friend Edward Gelding had taken to the cloth, he couldn't have been less surprised by the revelation. He always knew the man would do great things. It was just an inflection of his inner morose nature that he had decided to become a priest, a Man of God, instead of allowing Seeley to show him the endless wonder what could have awaited him. A shame, he thought to himself. The two of them could have been more than legends.

Seeley took a brief moment to perform the Signum Crucis, reciting the prayer he had known so well for longer than he cared to reflect upon, and entered the Christ Church. Inside he could feel the warmth of the Lord and the welcoming nature of a church that had its share of pinchcocks and dredges. It was a strange feeling, to be bathed in welcoming spirits, upon entering a House of God for him. He had done it now and again, curious, but often felt like an outsider or a trespasser. He had been a devout Catholic in his previous life and despite what he had become, he liked to still think of himself as being such. The shadow he cast upon London should not remove him from the Grace of the Lord.

"Just a moment," an aged male voice echoed through the chancel, "I'll be with you in no time." Seeley felt a faint smile drawing across his lips. The stories were true, to be sure. "How can I be of service?" an elderly Edward Gelding asked as he emerged from what Seeley figured was his office. There was a long moment of silence as Gelding approached Seeley. "You look like someone I used to know," he replied looking over the vampire, "but he's long since left this world, I am sorrowful to report." Seeley fought back the desire to laugh at his old friend's antics. "But pay no mind to that, what can I help you with, my child?"

Studying the old man it became obvious to Seeley that his mind might not be as sharp as it once was. Using his tongue to feel for his teeth he found that they were withdrawn and ready. Forcing them back, he looked to his old friend and smiled. "I'm looking for an Edward Gelding," he replied firmly, "he's an old friend of mine that I need to speak with." Seeley watched as Gelding's eyes widened and the realization of who he was came into sharp focus. There was a long moment of silence between the two men before Seeley spoke. "It's been a long time now, Gelding."

The two men studied one another as Gelding shifted his weight. "What do you want, Seeley?" he asked. There was a noticeable tension to his tone as he spoke and Seeley was finding it increasingly difficult to keep a straight face. "I have nothing to say to you." His voice was firm, for an older man. The vampire could feel himself becoming thirsty as he looked over the old man and waited for him to finish his thoughts. "You shouldn't have come here." he finished.

"Oh, but that is where you're wrong, Edward." Seeley replied keeping his intentions at bay. He could see the fear that was washing over the priest as he stood in the pew. "There's quite a lot that you owe me. But I'm not really here to collect upon a debt, but rather send a message." Seeley kept his tone direct and stern. Gelding seemed to shrink as the vampire drew closer, the scent of his unease filling the air. "Tell me how to reach Jackson Hodgins." Seeley folded his arms across his chest and waited for the old priest to respond. He could tell he was working through the options in his mind, however, and feeling the calm that he maintained wearing thin Seeley snapped. "Tell me where to find him or I will paint this fucking House of the Lord with your intestines."

Gelding retracted as Seeley seemed to shift from calm to infuriated. "I-I-I-I don't know how to reach him. He always comes to me." Gelding sputtered as Seeley continued to draw closer. "You-you-you have to b-b-believe me. I don't know!" he shouted, desperate now. Seeley removed his knife from his belt and drew it on the old man. "I'm not lying to you, you son of a bitch!" the elder spat. The creature of the night could feel the wetness from the old man's spit smacking him in the face. "I have told you-you-you all I know." There was a firmness to his tone that indicated what Seeley had known before he walked in the front entrance of the church - he would have to send the message.

"Forgive me, Father," Seeley said as he reached out and caught the old man in the throat, "for I...have..." he let his voice trail as he drew the knife to the man's left eye. He could almost taste the fear that was escaping from the elder. Realizing that he wouldn't be able to what he desired in the pews, he threw the man across the chancel to the alter. There was a loud report as the frail body smacked against the wooden alter. Seeley moved with a swiftness he seldom found use for and knelt over the old man. "I'm sorry, old friend." he said as he drove the blade into his left eye and shifted the blade around.

The priest screamed, searing with pain, as Seeley worked the blade behind the eye, cutting the tendons and nerves that connected it to the body. "Stop this madness!" the man screamed, but it was no use. Seeley rested his legs upon his chest, crushing his ribs, causing more pain to shoot through the man's body. Seeley watched with satisfaction as the victim's blood seeped out of the eye socket. Reaching down he rolled the eye out of it's socket with the blade and plucked it. "Save me Jesus!" Gelding screamed. The creature of the night scoffed lightly and rested the eye next to them. "In the name of the Lord I command you to stop!" the priest continued to yell, becoming weaker with each breath.

Seeley used his free hand to hold the man down as he re-enacted the action on his other eye. There was a loud scream echoing through the church as the man finally succumbed to his injuries and fainted. Looking down, disappointed, the vampire studied his old friend. "Eye for an eye, Father." he said as he stood up, collecting the eyes. Feeling the warm liquid that was running between his fingers, he knew watched as the old man's chest heaved up and down. Satisfied with his work, he rested the eyes on the alter and thrust his hands around, spraying the blood across the walls, effigies, and the crucifixion of the Lord Jesus. "Forgive me, Lord." The vampire dropped to one knee and performed the Signum Crucis. "In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti."

* * *

Lance had come running as fast as he could when he heard the screams echo through the church. He had arrived only an hour earlier, intent on looking after the man who had helped raise him, to help with a few of the chores around the church. He had found himself outside in the back when he heard the loud screams of a man. Running on instinct he had dashed around the building and burst through the main entrance as a man left. Lance offered no mind to the man as he noticed the show that had been left before him upon the alter. Rushing over to Father Gelding, he slid on some of the blood that had been cast across the room, not taking any of it in as he cradled the old man's head in his lap. "Stay with me, Father. Stay with me. Help!" he shouted as he realized that Gelding was in fact still alive. Fear coursing through him, he looked upon the visage of his father and saw what had been done to him and his body tensed. His mind raced. "Help!"


	6. The Betrayal in the Trust

_**Chapter Six:  
**_ _ **The Betrayal in the Trust**_

As he drew closer to the small London Hospital located off Whitechapel Road, near Buck's Row, Jackson Hodgins could feel his heart beating a slight bit faster than usual. It had been almost three and a half weeks since Father Gelding had been viciously attacked in the Christ Church; and the first time since then Jackson had been able to work up the courage to see the man he called father. Checking himself before he entered the hospital, he crossed himself, saying the prayers, and held his breath. He had no idea what to expect - the almost minimal information he had been able to collect didn't reveal much of the old man's condition - and braced himself for the worst. An action that was not without reason.

Once inside the hospital he found himself suspended, unable to continue without fear controlling his actions. "Can I help you, sir?" a kindly young woman asked. Jackson was brought back from his thoughts as his eyes wandered over the woman, more out of instinct than lust. "Can I help you, sir?" she asked a second time, this time placing an emphasis on 'sir'. Jackson thought about the request for a moment, but found he was too distracted by the woman's hazel eyes and radiant smile. "Sir? Can...I...help...you?" This time he could taste the iron in her tone as she rested a hand on her hip and shifted her weight to that side. He wondered how often this woman had to deal with family members in shock, upset lovers, and other unstable individuals who could be best described as difficult.

"I would like to see Edward Gelding?" The request came out more like a question than an actual request and he cursed himself under his breath. The young woman returned her attention to the list that was resting on the desk in front of her. "I heard we was being treated here and I would fancy checking in on him, if that's allowed." he replied, now feeling a bit more confident. The woman kept her attention to the list, almost as if he wasn't there. "I would also fancy to know your name." he requested, trying to sound suave but coming off more desperate than he thought. The woman looked up from the list, offered him a curt smile, and directed her attention back to the list. "You look like a woman I once knew, that's all." he muttered in an effort to control his actions a bit better.

The receptionist rested the list back down on the desk and came around to meet Jackson. "The name's Angela Montenegro," she replied with a faint smile, "and I doubt that we have met." He thought about the name for a moment, trying to place it, but his attention was once again broken by the woman in front of him. "Father Gelding is down the hall and to the left. He's with his son right now, but I'm sure he wouldn't mind another friend. He's been...quite melancholy since the attack." Angela informed him. His mind balked at the idea of someone masquerading as his son - other than himself - but as he thought about it everything became clear. "Will there be anything else?"

Jackson shifted his weight from left to right. "No, no. That will be all for now unless I can interest you in having dinner with me?" he said, feeling himself become flush as he spoke, unable to stop himself. Angela smiled softly and seemed to consider the request. Jackson interrupted her before she could speak. "I shouldn't be so bold. You don't have to say yes, but I would be delighted if you would." he offered. Angela nodded and wrote down a time and a location. "I'll...be there." Jackson could feel himself becoming increasingly nervous around this woman and left to head down the hall to see Gelding. Return his attention back to what he had come to do.

He could hear someone speaking to Gelding as he approached the door. Leaning close enough to listen he found that he could make out two voices. One was Gelding, that was the most obvious of the two. The other was the man claiming to be his son; a feat that astonished Jackson considering he was the closest thing to family that Edward Gelding had ever known. "I want you...to meet with him...Lance." Jackson heard Gelding speaking to the other man in the room - his 'son' - and scoffed. "He'll show you...what...you need...to know. I fear I...have become...too weak." his words were labored and intense. Jackson thought back to what Angela the receptionist had said earlier. Could this 'son' be Lance Sweets? The man that Gelding had asked Jackson to meet with before the attack?

Before he knew what he was doing, he had eased the door to the sick room open and walked in. Both men turned to see who he was. His mind raced when his attention directed to Gelding, who was wearing a white bandage over his eyes, stained red with blood that had soaked through. "His eyes..." Jackson muttered loudly before he could catch himself. The young man sitting across from Gelding stood up, ran a hand through his short cut black hair, and shot his free hand out. He introduced himself as Lance Sweets and Jackson laughed to himself. The man was nothing much to look at, but if Gelding said he was worthy then he must have been. "Jackson Hodgins. I'm Father Gelding's...son." he said unsure of how to say it without sounding too arrogant. Or territorial.

Lance offered a faint nod and looked back over to the man in the bed. "He's weak," he replied resting his hand against the priest's forehead gently, "but who wouldn't be? Someone brutalized him, removed his eyes, and rested them on the alter in Christ Church. Who does that?" Lance asked the stranger standing several feet from him. Jackson shifted his weight and Lance saw the sense of shock that was etched upon the man's face and found himself becoming uneasy. "You don't think it was...him...do you?" he asked. Gelding waved his hand weakly at Lance, brushing his hand away. "I'm going to speak with Mr. Hodgins outside, is that okay?" he asked Gelding. The old man mumbled something and waved the two men off.

Once outside the warm air Lance shoved his hands in his pocket and looked over Jackson. "So, you're the man he's been speaking so much about. He was crying for you when I found him. Between labored screams of suffering and the Lord." Lance said, directing his attention to the man in front of him. He watched as Jackson bit his lower lip and looked around, nervously. "Who does something like that to an old man? Honestly. Pray, I think you know something." He watched as Jackson continued to shift around with intense unease. He might have been too much to look at, but this Lance Sweets was as sharp as Jackson had been at that age.

"His name is Seeley Booth." Jackson replied, finally. Lance thought about the name, testing it on his tongue, trying to recall where he had heard the name before. "He slaughtered our families. I was like you, a lost child, alone, and Father Gelding took me in. Sheltered me." Jackson offered. Lance could tell from his tone that the man was sincere and meant what he was saying. Still, Lance had trouble with the concept of trusting him. "He taught me things, things like how to deal with creatures like him. Showed me the real world, the one that lurks beneath the facade that we call reality." Lance scoffed at the idea of what Jackson was saying, but in his heart he knew it was only the truth. Jackson spun around on his heel and continued to scan around.

"Is something wrong, Jackson?" Lance inquired. The man shook his head and started to leave, but Lance was able to grip his arm with enough tension to reel him back. "You will not walk away from that man. Not now! He's been in there for three and a half weeks, sick and dying, trying to speak to you. I'm not allowing you to walk away from him like that." His words were bitter and tense. Jackson's expression was that of shock and awe. "I don't know you, Hodgins, but if we wants us to work together I don't think I can do that until you have faced the reality of what the son of a bitch did to the man we both loved and called 'father.'" Lance watched as the man's expression softened and he returned his attention back to the hospital. Jackson could see the truth in what was said, and it hurt him. Badly.

Watching as Jackson returned the hospital, Lance let out a long sigh of relief. He knew he couldn't do this alone and having now laid eyes upon Jackson Hodgins himself he knew that this man would not lead him astray. He might not be the best companion to have in his hunt for revenge upon the man who slaughtered his family and stole the eyes of the man who had taken him in, but he was one that would not stop until justice was served. Looking around, Lance watched as a brunette woman entered the hospital, one he had noticed several times before and kept thinking back on. He wondered who she was and brushed it to the back of his mind as he sat down on one of the benches that was outside. He could wait for Jackson to return before discussing their next step.

* * *

Temperance walked into the London Hospital, an expression of excitement on her soft features, and located the seat next to Angela. Angela looked over to her companion and smiled lightly. "I think I know what the tooth is from." Temperance said boastfully, removing the small vial from her overcoat and resting it on the desk in front of them. "It's an animal fang; one from a snake. I'm not sure what the snake was doing on Martha Tabram's body or how the markings became to be there...but I know what it is." she beamed. Angela looked over the sample and held it to the light. "There's no other creature who had such a tooth. Nothing else is transparent when light reaches it like a snake's tooth." she reiterated. She could hardly hold her excitement as she told Angela about her revelation.

"That's wonderful news, Sweetie." Angela said, feeling her heart sink, knowing she would have to report her betrayal to her lover. "I have something I want to talk to you about, if that's allowed." she replied. She watched as Temperance collected the sample and her expression remained exuberant. "It's about us." Temperance felt the words coming out of Angela's mouth smack her like a ton of bricks and her expression shifted from that of excited to concern. Angela shifted her weight in the seat and rested her hand on Temperance's. Temperance felt the chill of her touch and retracted. "This won't be easy, but I have had an offer from a suitor whom I have been seeing at night." she cleared her throat.

The statement hung in the air like a dead man in the gallows. Temperance knew well enough that Angela was a lady of the night and saw men regularly, but to have a suitor meant that she was more to him than a common whore. "What do you mean? A suitor?" her tone was hurt and damaged. She watched as Angela looked around nervously and forced herself to take her lover's hand. "Please, Angela. What do you mean? Are we..." she allowed her voice to trail, to reflect the damage it was doing to her own heart and the crack in her soul that was now forming. She had loved Angela from the moment she had first spotted her, taken her in, sheltered her and clothed her, implored her to leave the life of a street walker, even found her employment at the hospital to help with her income and keep her off the streets where she might be a bit safer, but she wouldn't have it and now it felt like she was ripping out the one thing that Temperance had that she held on to the most - her heart.

"I can't do this any longer, I'm sorry." she replied. Temperance felt a wellspring of emotion erupt within herself and fought back the tears that were forming in the edge of her eyes. "Please, don't think this was an easy choice. I need a man. To comfort me, take care of me, and provide for me the things you cannot. I'm sorry." Angela said, now crying herself. Temperance bit her lower lip so hard she felt warm blood trickle down her chin and removed her hands from Angela. Angela sat there, silent and still, as Temperance bolted out of the door and tried to hide her emotions. This was the worst experience she had ever felt. It was, for her, a fate worse than death.

* * *

Jackson swallowed his fear and sat down in the chair that Lance had been residing in beside Edward Gelding and took his hand. He noticed that it was cold to the touch, almost still, as he started to run his thumb along the old man's hand. "I'm here, Father." he whispered. The priest moaned faintly and felt around with his other hand. Jackson took the man's older hand and rested it on his face. "I'm here now. It's safe. What did you want to tell me?" he asked. It burnt deep in his soul to see Gelding like this, weak and breathless.

Gelding's voice was low, labored, and raspy, but Jackson leaned in to hear what he was saying. "You must...you must watch out. What out for that...watch out. For the body. The boy." he muttered. Jackson was unsure of his meaning, but he was able to translate some of what was being said. He knew that the man was speaking of Lance, but what was he to watch out for? "He is not like you. He is. He is. He is not ready to take life." Gelding continued to ramble. Jackson felt himself becoming increasingly confused with the man's muttering.

"I love you," he whispered to Gelding as he leaned in to kiss the old man's forehead, "and I will do my best to watch out for Lance. I shall be the brother you intend for us to be. Just tell me, was it Booth who did this to you?" Jackson asked. He tried to leave the venom out of his tone as he asked, but he knew better than to believe he could hide his feelings from the man who had taught him how to conceal them. As he continued to run his thumb over the old priest's hands he could feel the becoming colder, less alive. He watched as the old man took one final breath, nodded weakly, and expired. "Thank you." he whispered standing up and heading for the door.

As he walked out he could hear the receptionist speaking with another woman, a brunette he had seen a few times at the crime scenes, and directed his attention back to the doors. Once outside he saw that Lance was still resting on the bench. "How is he?" Lance inquired, unaware of Gelding's fate. Jackson looked down. Lance drew a mournful look across his face. Unable to stop himself, Jackson drew the younger man in, embraced him, and held tightly. "He didn't make it..." Lance whispered to himself. Jackson nodded and withdrew.

"Before he expired he left me with the task of teaching you what you need to know to end the son of a bitch that did this to him, to our families, to us." Jackson felt the tension in his voice break as the woman from inside bolted out of the door in tears. His attention went from her to the receptionist who was now standing in front of him. "Can I help you?" he asked, confused by the woman's actions. Lance directed his attention away from Jackson and the woman. It was an odd sight to behold.

The woman bit her lower lip and let out a long sigh. "Take me away from this. Please? I might have made a dire mistake, just now, with her. All I want to do right now is drown out my sorrow. And you look like you could use the same, friend." she spoke slow and it suddenly became clear to him how he knew her. She was "Pearly Gates", the whore he had been fancying since he had left the meeting with Gelding weeks earlier. Jackson shifted his weight and tried to collect his thoughts. Angela smiled, weakly, and looked over to Lance who was now playing with the buttons on his coat. "I'm sorry, I'm Angela." she said to Lance, offering her hand.

Lance took the woman's hand and smiled. "I'll meet you tonight, but this young man and I have work to do." Jackson said, directing his attention back to Angela. "We can talk more then," he replied, "but until then keep me in your heart." His tone was loving and soft. Softer than he had ever felt with a woman before. The realization that this was the same woman he had been courting came as a shock, but upon further thought it made sense to him. The brunette woman he saw leaving, he realized as well, as Temperance Brennan, the woman that Angela had been firmly in love with. His mind drifted as he left Angela and led Lance back to his room near Mitre Square.


End file.
